Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2)

by Courtney Bowen

  Oaka sat down on the ground for a moment, staring at the dirt, upset by his confrontation with Monika and depressed by the situation in general with Basha and Basha’s quest. Then he stared at his hands for a while as his mind wandered, and he thought about the dream he had the other night. There had been a fire in the forest, he recalled, and he had been so angry, but Sisila had been there as well. Fire was passion, he knew, Sisila. Fire was anger as well, Monika. Fire, passion, anger, the recipe was there…the spark was in his fingers, he realized. The fire was there.

  Chapter 7: The Story

  Would you let me tell you a lie? Would

  You believe every word that I had to say?

  Would you let me believe that every word

  You told me was true as well? Who lies then?

  --Lies, Tarak

  Geda was confused and concerned as well when he did not even know what to think of his wife anymore. Ever since the clock workshop had caught on fire, Habala had seemed even more gloomy and distracted, going off on tangents he could not comprehend, especially when it came to Brigga. She was obsessed with that woman, trying to find out some deep, dark, terrible secret of hers that Brigga was hiding, or something like that.

  Brigga could not be hiding anything, Geda thought to himself, because there was nothing for her to hide. Brigga did not have much in her life as far as he knew, not much in the way of wealth or treasures, just a daughter, he was certain, who gave her mother grief with the way she received and rejected valid suitors like Morton, Habala’s cousin.

  Morton might not be much of a catch, he knew that very well when the man was an idiot he put up with just for Habala’s sake, but at least Morton was a man who was interested in Nisa and could give her some stability in life. That had to mean something, considering she was a copper-less, balnor waif who didn’t have a father, just a mother, and the two of them had been working for half of their lives to support themselves. Let her depend on someone else for once, instead of leading them on and then dropping them after a while when they had lost her fancy. That way, Geda wouldn’t have had to dry Morton’s tears, and Morton wouldn’t have broken his fiddle at the Courtship ritual. It had taken him days to repair that thing, and it was all that he had left of his boys now, that and the balls they had once juggled.

  He missed them, oh gods, how he missed them. He missed their smiles and their laughter, he even sometimes missed the way they argued with him, because at least he could get a decent conversation out of them, one full of thought and passion, even if a little bit misguided and mistaken. At least they weren’t boring, those sons of his, for he could depend on them to liven up his existence with their shenanigans, even if they sometimes made him worry. His worry for his boys was almost worse for him than it was for Brigga with Nisa, he felt. At least Brigga knew that Nisa could support herself if she had to, he wasn’t that certain about Basha.

  But now that they were gone, he had nothing to fill up his life with anymore. He couldn’t mourn for them and weep, though, not the way that Habala could, for he was a strong man, a sure man, a brave man who was in charge of the inn. He had to be strong for her, and for his family, after what had happened, and take care of the inn so that it didn’t fall apart in the boys’ absences. He could not weep, he had to be strong and sure, there was no time for misery or grief for him when business had to be taken care of first. Everything else came second for him in the end, even his wife and sons.

  He felt like a hollow man without purpose sometimes, without a song of his own anymore. Habala, he loved her, but sometimes he didn’t love her enough, and sometimes he wondered if she cared for him as much as he cared for her, or more or less. He wondered…it had been so long ago that she had loved or been attracted to his younger brother Smidge, and she had chosen him in the end, yet he wondered sometimes if her eyes ever slipped towards Smidge, if she longed to have him in her marriage bed instead. Perhaps she wondered if her life would have been different, better even, if she had gone with Smidge instead of him.

  Geda didn’t want to think that, and he had been perfectly happy for years believing that Habala was satisfied with him, happy with her life as wife of the innkeeper of The Smiling Stallion inn, especially when they had children to raise together. But now he was not so sure of himself, especially after the boys had left, and he wondered if she might stray, slip away from him without anything to hold her back now, and head towards Smidge instead. That would be a nightmare. He didn’t want Smidge to win Habala’s heart, he loved her, but what could he do to keep her? What could he offer her? He had to think of something, or else hope that he was just being paranoid, that she wouldn’t go and leave him for his brother.

  He hated Coe Baba, for Coe Baba had taken away everything he had ever loved, and swallowed it up until there was nothing left but himself, and he hated himself. It was a void where people lived and died in the same space, in the same atmosphere that their ancestors had done, and so nothing ever changed, nothing ever progressed, and nothing ever happened. Perhaps he should have left Coe Baba a long time ago as his boys had done, slipped away and disappeared into the world beyond forever, but he had come back to Coe Baba after joining the Border Guards for a short term of duty, in the hopes of finding that Habala’s heart had changed for him, and it had, but what good had it done him all these years later? Not a lick of good, considering that the end result was the same with the boys gone; nothing ever changed.

  Well, perhaps something had changed, or something had happened, in the oddest way possible. Though it was difficult to discern, as one had to scour through the records and keep track of all the purchases and inventory over the years, it seemed that The Smiling Stallion inn had seen an increase in customers in the last few decades, particularly those who worshipped the Oracle of Mila.

  And while he did not believe in the Oracle and her powers of foresight, observation into the future, he did wonder if there was some sort of meaning to be found here, a purpose in how people were seeking out her advice, not just in terms of his own personal gain from his business dealings with them. Perhaps they were seeking comfort in knowing what might happen to them, feeling that the world was crushing in on them, and that things were becoming more unstable or uncertain, falling apart basically. Perhaps they might hope that they could be prepared for what might come if they listened to the Oracle, plan ahead on how to face it, avoid it, or change it even. Perhaps word had spread, and more people were coming because they thought they might find something interesting here, not really knowing what to expect or desiring any specific information.

  Perhaps he was seeing too much into this, as he was usually a cautious, pragmatic man who never really believed in anything until he was certain that there was something here, and it took a lot to convince him in the end. He could not take things lightly whenever there were large personal stakes involved, including his wife, family, and the inn. And he had to be certain, to know what was possible and what was not, so that he would not lose everything that he had ever invested in his enterprises by a half-mad, risky gamble. He did not understand things easily enough, when it had to be explained to him, to know just what he was dealing with here. It had cost him a lot, the last time he had taken a huge, personal risk without much chance of reward, moving quickly without knowing what was involved, what was at stake here, and what he was dealing with; it had cost him the life of his dear sister Dorvina, he felt.

  No, he had to be cautious here, especially with Habala, to know what they were dealing with. He hoped for the best, and hoped that their marriage might survive, just as he hoped that his sons might survive. The boys would make it if Sir Nickleby was by their side. He trusted the man more than he trusted the Oracle, although that wasn’t saying much considering his low opinion of the Oracle. Perhaps the boys might survive, perhaps they might not. He would never know, would he? What future was out there for them? He just had to get used to the possibility of hearing nothing from them, they had vanished.

  Later that afternoon, Monik
a listened to Basha and Oaka talk, and then asked, “What sort of legends do you know?”

  “All kinds,” Basha said. “The Old Man told us many of them when we were young, the simple kind. And then there are the ones in ‘Legends of Arria’ and ‘The Chronicle of the Knights’ that we have…”

  “I know one,” Oaka said, turning to Monika. “You may not like it.” He said.

  “Try me.” She said.

  “There are many different versions of these legends.” Oaka said. “The simplest are the most innocent, and intended for children at story-time. But some, the most difficult to comprehend and perhaps the most gruesome, are kept inside the pages of red-marked ‘Legends of Arria’ for adults. Here is a story I first read when I was thirteen.” Oaka said.

  The Forest Myth

  The four gods who had first risen out of the water spread apart then, one at a time. Loqwa went first, as he could not stand being near them, and went further afield. The four gods spread out across the land they had made, exploring their new domain. Mila came first into her forest. Willowy and tender, Mila was as supple as the leaves on the trees she had made. She smiled to herself, looking around in admiration at what she had created, the beauty of the trees and the forest sprouting.

  Mila was the forest goddess, but she was also goddess of mystery and magic, love, animals, knowledge, the earth, females and their offspring, creation and water before other gods and goddesses came along to take up some of her other duties. The forest belonged to her, and she walked through it, growing every plant that would cover this planet. The earth was her home now, her mother ever since she had fallen from the sky. She still needed sunlight, and water quenched her thirst, but she nestled within the earth at night and slept, satisfied that she was safe and well protected.

  Popo went up to the mountains that he had built, but he came back down to visit her whenever he was lonely, and saw what she had created. He loved her in his own way, snow and ice melting whenever he embraced her, and trees grew upon his slopes, but she felt no warmth from him that could compare with the embrace of the earth she adored. It felt soft and rough in her fingers, crumbling into dust whenever she touched it, yet it felt firm beneath her feet. She stood rooted upon the earth, never dreaming of wanting more.

  Animals came to her when they wanted to be fed, and she provided them with food through nature. She could think of no better life for these creatures. She knew many things about the forest that the other gods did not know, and she kept these secrets to herself because she knew that she could not share these secrets with them without spoiling something perfect. She kept that perfection within herself.

  And then she came across Menthar. Menthar was wild, feeling alive for the first time as he looked up at the sun and thought to himself that he could burn brighter than his brother. He moved fast, spreading like flames through the forest as he laughed, enjoying himself and seeing what he could do to make himself feel stronger.

  And then he came across Mila. He grabbed her, and gripped her so tightly that she could not escape as he burned, scorching her and searing her branches. She screamed as he consumed her with flames. Pained and overheated, she began to crack and fell over onto the forest floor. The crash disturbed everything for miles around.

  Menthar skipped over her and continued on, not even feeling remorse for her death as he felt invincible. The forest burned to cinder and ash, and he controlled the flames that had caused this. He thought that he would not be punished.

  Popo, who had gone up to higher ground to take a look over the land, spotted the flames and smoke from a distance. He knew that Menthar must be in the forest, when fire was Menthar’s way of dealing with things, but when he heard Mila’s cry, he realized that something must be wrong. He rushed back, and saw the whole forest had been destroyed. Popo was unmoved by most things, but when he saw Mila’s corpse on the forest floor, he wept and snow blanketed the earth.

  He picked up Mila, as if she was nothing more than a leaf in his arms, and carried her to the mountains that he had made. Loqwa came afterwards, and followed the snow, leading up to where the mountain god was resting, bearing his beloved goddess.

  Loqwa said, “I come to take her away. She will not disturb you anymore.” His voice, low and soft, was perhaps the first voice to utter words--firm and undeniable.

  “I do not want her to leave.” Popo said. His voice was just as rough and uncouth as the rock he seemed to be made of. But the crack in his voice seemed to indicate that, where Mila was concerned, he had a weakness. “Where will you put her?” Popo asked.

  In darkness, Mila awoke and looked around--darkness and light swirled together, forming a tunnel. “What is this place?” She asked.

  “It is another world,” Her brother Loqwa spoke, turning to her. “A spirit world of the dead. It is almost empty, for now.”

  “A spirit--” Mila gasped. “I cannot be dead.” She said, “I am a goddess, a goddess who--”

  “We are not immortal.” Loqwa said. “At least not yet. We are gods who have charge of our worlds, but that does not mean we have immortality. We must earn immortality with our powers.”

  “Our--what?” Mila shook her head. “No one told me that. I have done enough, have I not?” She asked. “I have done more than enough to earn my immortality. I have helped the animals, grown the forest, and--” Mila hesitated. “I have done enough.” She said.

  “Not just yet, I’m afraid.” Loqwa said. “There is just one or two more things left to do. Now, be quiet, I am speaking with Popo in the living world.”

  “In the earth, where she belongs.” Loqwa said. He did not want to disturb Popo in his mourning, but he insisted, “She does not belong among the living anymore. She is dead.”

  “She is not dead.” Popo said. “Gods do not die.” His voice thundered. “I refuse to believe she can.”

  “We nearly did die.” Loqwa said. “In the water, do you remember? I remember.” Loqwa closed his eyes, smiling to himself. “The water closed in over us. And though we might have struggled, it would have claimed us in the end.”

  “What do I have to do to earn immortality?” Mila asked. “And how can I do it here, when I am already dead?”

  “Do you want immortality?” Loqwa asked, turning to her. “It is a hard thing to have, or so I am told. You will have to live with it for the rest of your existence.”

  “The earth saved us.” Popo said to Loqwa. “The earth--rose to greet us, because we were meant to live,” He said, looking down at Mila as Loqwa opened his eyes. “We are gods. We are beings beyond the mortal; we were meant to populate the earth.” Popo said as he raised his head. “Mila would have seen to that. She knew that we could not live without a reason. We were meant for more in this life than to die.”

  “I want immortality.” Mila said, nodding.

  “Then I will tell you how to get it,” Loqwa said.

  “She is dead--Mila cannot do anything more than lie there, dead.” Loqwa said to Popo. “I need to take her to the other side, and so consummate this event.”

  Popo turned back to Loqwa. “Yes, she can do more--in life. Bring--her--back!” He roared. “Bring her back to me, and let us live in this world forever.”

  “I cannot do that.” Loqwa said. “It is not my job--I am in charge of death, not of life. I am only supposed to take her away. I do not want her to disturb you, the living, for she is in my domain now.”

  “The first thing you must do,” Loqwa said, “is gain believers.”

  “Believers?” Mila asked.

  “Believers who will hear what you have to say, and then decide that you are their goddess, and they will worship you for that. For all that you have provided to them, they will worship you. That is belief, and that leads to immortality.” The god of death said.

  “What if you can bring her back?” Popo asked, standing up and towering over even Loqwa. “Have you even tried?”

  “What have I to try with?” Loqwa said. “Life has barely even begun on this earth, death
is not part of it.” He said, “But I should not, because…”

  “How can I get believers?” Mila asked. “All there is to worship me is you, our brothers, and the animals. Where is the intelligence, where is the belief in that?” She asked.

  “Menthar took her, Menthar raped her…Menthar killed her,” Popo said. “Surely that is unnatural enough that she could be brought back, for a second chance at life?”

  “I believe in you.” Loqwa said Mila.

  “I do not know about life, I only know about death,” Loqwa said, but he glanced down. “However, I might reconsider...for a price.” He said.

  “I believe in life, for I am death. There cannot be death without life, nor life without death.” Loqwa told Mila. “I believe in you for I have nothing else to believe in. You are the source of life here.”

  “What price?” Popo asked.

  “Life can exist if…you must make it snow, Popo.” Loqwa said. “You must make it snow every few months, and bring the cold to this world for a couple of months. You must bring the rain every few weeks or every few days, depending upon where you are. When it is hot, let it be hot. When it is dry, let it be dry. There are places where it will almost always be hot and/or dry. There are places where it almost always be cold and/or wet. In all of these things, you must let it be so. Things will happen that will be out of your control. Let them come. You cannot control everything, Popo. You may be a god, but you are not the only one. You are one of many, and powerless to do anything without the help of others. You have your domain, they have theirs. That is the way it will always be.” Loqwa said.